The slaves worked through the evening and well into the night. Jerry Kelly kept a close eye on them. He kept a close eye on Gary, hung a careful ear to his replies to Jerry’s attempts at reconciliation. There were stages Gary the moth had to go through to become Gary the butterfly. There were dues to be paid and, in the grand scheme of life, being blindfolded and forced to your knees by a pal who might’ve gone psycho was tough, but there were a lot of worse things, let Jerry tell you that, buddy. Gary had taken to delivering the under-cringe sideways looks.
After midnight, while Jerry and Gary were on the porch silently enjoying companionship under a Japanese-quality moon, inside the shed the first slave’s body sent out a message that it was lacking a necessity. Then another, moaning; a third shouting. Molecular rebellion.
The door was locked from the outside. Inside, frantic hands began pounding on it.
“Natives are restless, Gary,” Jerry Kelly said smoking a piece of hash off the end of one of Chyna Lily’s kitchen knives. He’d taken control of the shotgun after Gary didn’t come out of his pout in a reasonable time. “Go chip ’em a tap.”
“Let Roar do it.” Gary was smiling. “She’s a dirty old thing, eh, Jer’?”
Jerry Kelly’s inner ear picked that Gary had treachery coursing through his heart, that he was trying to put Jerry Kelly to sleep. He leaned over and flipped the lock. “Roar, it’s tap the dancers time.”
From inside, she called, “Get Chyna. She’s the magic minstrel.”
“Chyna’s having a private moment, doesn’t want to be disturbed. C’mon out, Roar. I got two dozen hits, you tap the team and you can have what’s left.”
Aurora came out naked, slipping through a crack in the door, trying to keep the groping hands and ratcheting mouths inside. “One for each of them, and the rest for me?” She figured out the happy math.
“Yep. Tap ’em, then come on out and smoke some hash with us.” He dropped a handful of little clear envelopes into her hand. “You up to supercharge?”
Without answering she nodded and she slipped back into the shed.
Jerry Kelly put the shotgun down beside Gary and handed him the knife with the chunk of hash smoking on the tip. “Finish this if you want, I’m zonked.” He stretched and made a series of cracks up his spine. “I’m going up to get some food for ’em from the van. You want anything?”
Gary shook his head. “I’m cool for now, Jer’.”
“We’ll feed the slaves and get high with Aurora, party the girl up, switch her back from Chyna’s bad habits, make an honest woman out of her.”
Gary laughed false: “Haw, haw, haw,” and the hackles on Jerry Kelly’s neck started dancing like nerves.
He walked up the curve of the road; the air was crickets and crackles. There were no cities or major towns nearby to create ambient light to dilute the heavy weight of the galaxy; there was a strong moon and a path of billions of stars of varying brightness. He identified the Big Dipper and the North Star and looked in vain for the Big Bopper, giggling, trying to make the shape of a Fender guitar out of the beautiful mess of anarchy up there.
He’d had hopes for Gary in his slavish devotion but maybe he’d gone too far with the first-rate Cambodian trick, although pal Marko seemed to think it was amusing. In any case, it didn’t look like Gary was going to make it through this thing. Jerry would have to get some real workers up there, some guys with muscle tone, maybe another vehicle, a crash car.
From the creek bridge he could see Chyna had lights on in the log house. It looked like anything that could be lit up was, as if she were afraid of some headless horseman riding the night, some evil nasty that could be repelled by the bright light of reality. Zonked Jerry Kelly evaluated the idea of lurching around the windows and scratching against the glass, of creaking around on the board flooring of the porch and going: “Oooooo …” He instead gave the well-lit front yard a wide avoidance, remembering a yarn about Chyna and a shotgun and a Harley rider being buried with his helmet but without his head. Sensitive Chyna might not be in the mood for midnight frolics.
At the van he quietly opened the driver’s door and dug his fingers into a two-inch rip in the bottom of the seat, probing. He found the blunt shapes of shotgun shells and slipped one into his pocket. He clicked the door shut securely and went to the rear and took out Gary’s worn biker jacket and a box of partially melted chocolate bars and a case of high-energy athletic drinks. Balancing the boxes and the jacket on his shoulder he stood listening to the subtle invisible sounds of night. A faint breeze stirred his hair but seemed to bring no sound until he listened closely and heard the moving air commit angel’s songs on the singing, giggling chimes of glass and bits of metal.
He made his careful way back toward the shed, veering to take a route that would prevent him from walking into the dark surprise he suspected was being concocted in Gary’s petulant mind.
Walking on the edges of his feet he came upon the sight of Gary with the shotgun in his hands beside the shed’s porch. Indian Scout Jerry Kelly slipped across the ground, coming up on Gary’s off side. “Quit horsing around, Gary,” he said from a scant few feet away. He took a step into the startled Gary, bringing himself inside the arc of the barrel. “Give me the scatter, then take the boxes inside. Fuel for the machines.”
He took the shotgun and held it by the cold barrels, loose at his side. “Bring Aurora out with you. It’s playtime.”
When Gary opened the door a sudden wave of speedy voices floated out. Astronauts, Steppenwolf lyrics spoken at a feverish rate, a high laughter, sobbing. He heard Gary’s voice, a tough voice now that he was dealing with subhumans. He came out with naked Aurora as Jerry Kelly, sitting on the top step, fired a piece of hash the size of a biscuit with six-inch flame from a butane lighter.
Time, he decided, to start putting Gary into a vulnerable nap. He made room for him to sit, then patted the wood beside him. “Sit here, Roar. Keep us warm.” Gary sat sideways on the bottom step and Aurora nuzzled on him and went for his zipper.
Jerry Kelly inhaled off the chunk of hash and put the knife under her face. Then he cured Gary’s face. Then back again. He was careful to make his companionship genuine, and in fact it was, for the moment. They all rode their stone and Gary stared at the sky, saying he’d never seen a shooting star.
“We make our own shooting stars, man.” Jerry Kelly busted the scatter and glanced at the two shells, side-by-side in the barrels. “Check this feature.” He snapped the gun shut and aimed at the oriental moon and fired. There was a hollow boom and it seemed that stars burst from the barrel, heading home, repatriating themselves. Coincidentally there was a meteor shower far up there, a cascade that seemed to explode and drip shards of light.
Aurora said: “Wow. Lookee”
Gary briefly ducked away from the sound of the gunshot, but his eyes were kilns of joy at the beauty of the brief light. “Ooooo.”
“You like that, kids? Uncle Jerry’s planetarium. We make the stars. We are the stars.”
Aurora was dazzled. “We make the stars. We are the stars.” She said it again, and began weeping, eyes closed and mouth slack, her eyes retaining the after-image.
Gary was genuinely impressed. “That … Wow, Jerry. Do it again. Send ’em home.”
Jerry Kelly gave him a wide smile. The old Gary was back, he decided. The light show had burned the treachery from his brain. But he wondered how long Gary was back for. Was this just a brief visit? He aimed again at the moon. “Ready kids? Last shell, the last performance.” He made them wait, pretending he was going to fire, then lowering the gun to look at them. “Ready?”
“Yes, go Jerry, go.” Gary stared at the tip of the barrel, his eyes wide with excitement, anticipation.
“Okay, one, two, three …” Jerry Kelly shot the moon. It was beautiful, he had to admit, visual poetry. Even the sound, the booming rolling through the dark hollows, the undulations of the landscape. The after-sound seemed to go on for miles of time. When you thought it was done … there it was still, vibration faint and far.
Jerry Kelly walked back to the steps and sat down as though exhausted. He broke the gun open and used his fingernails to remove the shells. “Out of bullets, kids. Show’s over. Time for some serious huffing.” He put his hand on the back of Aurora’s head and turned her face to the sky. “Roar, you blow?”
“Sure, Jerry.” She was still entranced. “Like, who first?” She got off the step and knelt in the dirt at the foot of the steps.
“Roar, not that. Not yet, anyway. Supercharge us. Make us galaxies, like you. I’ll do you first.” He took the knife with the still-smoking hash and pulled off a lungful. He put the tip of the open shotgun against her lips and pushed it so the first inch was inside her mouth. He blew his lungful down the barrel and Aurora sucked.
She came off the end pretty fast, spitting and coughing. “Yuck, tastes funny.”
“Hash and gunsmoke, Roar, make you a warrior smoker. Do me.” He handed her the shotgun and the knife. He took the barrels into his mouth and she supercharged him. At the end of the gun her face was angelic, as though blowing hope into a sad man. “Wow, beautiful, Roar. Do me again.” She did. “Do Gary. Send him on a voyage.”
They each tripped to separate places. Gary kept looking up at the stars, seeming unable to look away for even a minute. Aurora massaged the crotch of his jeans and shivered and fiddled with her breasts, her mind elsewhere in a place who-knew?
Jerry Kelly played with the broken shotgun, focused on finding its point of balance on the edge of his hand. He conjured the shotgun shell from his jacket and eased it into the right-side chamber. He re-lit the piece of hash and poked around at Aurora’s face until she reluctantly took the tip of the barrel. He inhaled and blew down the left hand barrel. “Like honey, eh?” He put the tip of the shotgun on Gary’s shoulder. “You’re up, my boy.”
Gary was looking at the pattern of the stars as though trying to discern the sweet face of Jesus. “Uh, uh …” He wanted to tell Jerry he loved him.
“C’mon, Gar’, last hit. Roar, a treat for Gary. He’s had a hard day, ease his night.”
She made her lips loose and ran through what looked like enunciation exercises. She said, “I thought you’d go first.”
“Roar, I’m gonna pass I think. I’m saving myself.”
Aurora shrugged and unzipped Gary’s jeans. She leaned forward; her head instantly started bobbing. Gary’s face took a beatific wide smile of relaxation. Almost distractedly he turned his head and put the tip of the shotgun into his mouth. He’d decided against treachery. It had just been Jerry Kelly being Uncle Jerry. He could see the humour in the Cambodian moment. He began to laugh. It was these times now that he loved, when the god-like Jerry Kelly assembled everything. A light show, a sound extravaganza, floating honey smoke, the dreams of fantastic soon-profits, and this, that was probably the most perfect head-shot he’d ever had. He felt himself turning to brittle glass and it felt so good he wanted to pull at her hair, make her stop for a moment, for another moment before it ended. But it was too late: smoke in, ice out. Alchemy. Heaven.
He gazed up the barrel with adoration at smiling Jerry Kelly who filled his rosy cheeks with a massive inhalation of smoke. He felt the trust of love and wasn’t confused at all when Jerry Kelly pushed the tip of the barrel deep into Gary’s mouth, against the back of his throat and quickly snapped the gun shut and his eyes went to cold stones and he pulled the right-side trigger.
In the morning Chyna Lily heard the boots before she heard the knock at the door. She opened the door a crack and looked out at a sunny Jerry Kelly, Aurora tucked under his arm, held close like a cherished friend. Her face was vacant.
“Chy, we’re done for now. I have to leave some stuff in the shed, but I’ll be back to get it, soon. My pal Gary fucked off into the woods with the crew, they all went nuts on nature I guess. If you see him wandering around talking to the birds and bees, send him home, okay? Anyway, come on down to the shed, see what a great clean-up job the workers did. You’ll be happy. I’m proud.”
“It’s okay, Jerry.”
“No, no, no. C’mon, Chy. Me’n Roar will help you. Let’s go.”
Shuffling in slippers and her muumuu Chyna came out, reluctantly. Jerry Kelly and Aurora each took a squishy arm. They settled Chyna on the scooter and walked to the railway beside her. When she rolled aboard they walked alongside at the same speed. Jerry Kelly breathing in the fresh air and going, “Sweet,” and “God’s country, Chy.”
At the shed they went inside. The room, except for pieces of furniture and some stenciled cardboard boxes, had been cleaned and swept out; everything else, from the counting machine to elastic bands had been removed. There was a strong scent of shit, some aura of vomitus, and the rancid sweat of the workers.
“See, Chy?” Jerry Kelly. “Leave it as you found it, that’s my rule. You like?
Chyna Lily nodded. She exhibited dread and an anxiety to be away from the room, away from Jerry Kelly and his smile and friendship.
Holding her upper arm, he solicitously assisted her to a chair, saying, “Wow, Chy, you better sit down, take a load off. You look kinda wobbly, girl.”
Aurora stood at the wall, her eyes on Jerry Kelly, her mind still trying to sort out the power of her sucking that would lead to Gary’s head loudly disappearing into a red mist where there should have been a star shower. She dimly suspected Jerry Kelly might have had something to do with the event.
Making sure Chyna Lily was comfortable and safely balanced on the chair Jerry Kelly said he’d be back in a sec, he had a treat for her. Through the window Aurora watched him walk partway up the road, then step off the path into the bush. He came out carrying a cardboard box on his shoulder, his head bobbing a little as though listening to a boom box.
“It’s true, Chyna, he’s got a treat for us.” Aurora diluted her confusion with enthusiasm. Hoping for the best was a state she felt more comfortable within. “I wonder what it is? Maybe a supply? For us, to get us through the winter? I knew we did a good job, Chyna. We can spend the winter together. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Jerry Kelly came through the door. He put the box on the floor. “Just some housekeeping details first, Chy, okay? I know people have come up here and fucked you around. Some of ’em disappeared. That’s okay, fuck ’em. They weren’t pals, they didn’t understand the honour we need to make our lives harmonious. Other guys, I know, have had bad luck heading back down to the city: they got pinched. That’s okay too, with me. They didn’t understand how things are, they got what they deserve.
“Now, I’m nearly done here. Gary fucking off, that’s put me in a position. I got two vehicles, my car and the van. But I can only drive one, so I’m gonna drive the van down to where my car is and leave it there. I can’t take the boxes in my car, so the boxes stay here. I’m gonna come back, in a day or so, with a truck for the boxes, and when I leave again I don’t want to run into a roadblock, a bunch of State guys in round hats with shotguns and shit. You got all that, Chy?”
She nodded. She saw the change in his face, saw him winding up. She feared for Aurora; she feared for herself. “I got it, Jerry. We’re cool.”
He nodded back at her. “Because there’s two things I can do, here. I can bury both of you, or I can trust you. Which, I wonder, should I do?”
“We’re okay, Jerry. No problem. We won’t touch your stuff, we won’t say nothing. Right, Aurora?”
Aurora had no idea what was going on, what was being said. Why, she wondered, would Jerry talk about burying us? We’re not dead. He must mean something else. She got impatient, looking at the box with birthday eyes.
He stood and walked to the box, kicking it gently over toward Chyna Lily with his foot. “So, we’re cool? Just leave it alone, all of it. It’ll be gone in a day or two. Got it?”
Chyna Lily and Aurora couldn’t take their eyes off the box. Chyna’s eyes were wide in dread and fear. Aurora’s were wide in anticipation and joy.
Jerry Kelly reached down and ripped a piece of tape from the box top. He put his arm around Aurora’s shoulders, then kicked the box over onto its side at Chyna’s feet.
Aurora looked at the pretty colours of the slithering ribbons and went: “Ooo. Look, Chyna, magic ribbons, they’re untying themselves.”
Chyna began screaming.